


Trapped

by LizLuvsCupcakes



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Antipsychotics, Blood and Injury, Confusion, Drugs, Fantasy Racism, Gen, Hallucinations, Multi, Panic Attack, Paranoia, Polyamorous Character, Queerplatonic Relationships, Racism, Schizophrenia, Unreliable Narrator, christianity mentioned, description of panic attack, qpr, schizophrenic Damien LeVay, the gang is in a QPR, triggers to be warned in each chapter, you can’t tell me what to do mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizLuvsCupcakes/pseuds/LizLuvsCupcakes
Summary: (Spoilers in the tags)When Damien’s door starts moving of its own accord, everything changes. Friendships are tested, bonds are pushed, and the very idea of what is and isn’t real is called into question. When all his friends want to do is keep him safe, they find that the biggest threat to Damien may be Damien.
Relationships: Damien LaVey & Liam de Lioncourt, Damien LaVey & Miranda Vanderbilt, Damien LeVay & Calculester Hewlett-Packard, Damien LeVay & Polly Geist, Damien LeVay & Scott Howl, Damien LeVay & Vera Oberlin, Damien LeVay & Zoe, Scott Howl/Damien LaVey
Comments: 43
Kudos: 6





	1. I A-Door You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is my first monster prom fanfic and my first time depicting first person unreliable narrator, so please keep in mind I’ve done my best. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that this story is going to be full of paranoia, confusion and a whole lot of swearing and violence. I’m going to have to warn you what’s coming chapter by chapter because, if you’re like me, you look at a wall of tags and shrug. 
> 
> If that’s ok, let’s go!!
> 
> Oh! And before I forget, the gang is polyculed, and also high school aged. Everyone except Liam is now 17 or younger, and they’re polycule because I can do that. Enjoy.

It was a normal morning when it first happened. 

Damien LaVey was, once again, gathering up his stuff to venture out of hell and into the human world. He wouldn’t have bothered if The Inferno wasn’t, frankly, boring as fuck after nearly 2 decades in it. 

And… okay, maybe he occasionally enjoyed seeing that gaggle of idiots and losers that insisted on talking to him. Maybe “Game Night” wasn’t just not worse than a night alone, it was… preferable. 

But don’t ever expect him to _say_ that. 

Anyway, he had just slung his backpack over his shoulder when he noticed it. His door opened all the way. And he paused, confused. He actually shifted his bag down to the floor and continued to blink, staring at the complete impossibility before him. 

His door _never_ opened all the way. It’s not that his room was a pigsty, far from it, he was very meticulous and well organized for a teenage boy. Every knife he owned was meticulously organized on his knife rack, a large bookcase (though largely ornamental) sat to the right of his bed, the only thing moderately unorganized in the entire bedroom. 

No, it wasn’t that you could’ve opened his door with a bit of effort, rather, the setup of his room wouldn’t _allow_ for it. Apart from his artfully arranged collections of weapons and underground crystals and a very well hidden fashion magazine, a dresser sat immediately to the right of the door, and it was always just a bit too long for the space, so the door only ever opened halfway before it started pressing against the corner of the dresser, and it always made an awful splintering noise when you’d gone too far. Contents of the dresser even shifted or rattled if you pushed too hard. It always drove Dad insane. “We are replacing that bloody dresser!” He always insisted when it happened, then they didn’t. 

Now, though? Nothing. No noise. The door was opened all the way, the dresser untouched and undisturbed, the many fire-starting implements within undisturbed. Like, the dresser was still flush against both walls, there was now just an extra inch of space between the dresser and the door.

Damien stared at this extra inch of space for a few more seconds, trying to decide how it could’ve possibly gotten there. Had he… moved the dresser? There was no way, the rest of the room was fine. Had all of his room been displaced an inch somehow? A freak earthquake he’d slept right through?

He decided very quickly that he was in hell, and nothing was supposed to make sense here, and he’d investigate his dresser later. 

After yet another night of watching Zoe lure everyone into a false sense of security with Cards Against Monsterkind, only to pounce and ask everyone why they’d played their most messed up combinations and eat their sheer horror (admittedly fun to watch when he wasn’t caught up in the chaos), he returned home, flinging his door open-

_SKRUNK_

The uncomfortable splintering noise once again filled his ears. The dresser was right back where it was supposed to be. Right under a dent in the wall he’d made once (he couldn’t remember quite why; he didn’t know the “why” of many of his fist-holes. They made good storage space, though). There was even a new dent in the wood for his efforts.

Okay, whatever, he’d imagined the whole encounter, he decided, flopping back onto his bed and putting any thoughts of his door out of mind as he continued scrolling through his dash.

This would be the last time he’d do so for a long, long time. 

* * *

  
Nothing unusual happened for a couple of days. For all of Saturday and half of Sunday, he was free of any door-related worries. But on Sunday, after he finished taunting Sunday school goers and burning down nunneries ( _man_ , those nuns were getting good at nunjutsu), he was striding into his room to get changed, when he realized his door had opened wider. 

It wasn’t just the dresser this time. Rather, it looked like the doorway itself had shifted slightly to the left, far enough that you could see a half-inch of hallway sticking out from beyond the frame. It was as if there was some kind of miscalculation while building the place, slightly displacing the doorway from the hall. An inch more and you could see insulation and wiring. 

He stared at the sliver, dumbfounded, while his mind raced to come up with rational explanations. There had to be one, there was no way there wasn’t. The door hadn’t done this, all his life. Explanations struggled like poor swimmers in a vast ocean. It had always been this way? He’d rearranged his room and forgotten about it? The house was settling?

One explanation kept coming up for air. One he hoped wasn’t true, but if it was…

_Fuck_ , he was gonna have to deal with the weird witch chicks, wasn’t he?

Unless-

He grabbed his phone from his bed stand and shot off a text to Zoe. “Hey. You there?”

Immediately she responded. “OMG hiiiiiiii!!! :P :3 X3 hiiiiiii Damien!!!!”

He almost smiled. Was “everyone can text but they can only text like Zoe” a punishment? He made a note to ask Dad. “Listen, I need to ask you something about curses. And I need you to be honest. Okay?”

“:O >:O ofc bby!!!! OMG is evrytin okie???? Who needz 2 get The Die??? >:3”

“Nobody, yet. Do you know of any curses that can make doors move?”

It’s hard to judge pauses in text, but he could picture Zoe chewing her tongue in concentration as she thought of every curse she knew. “Uuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmm…… noooooo I dont THINK sooooo…. :\ Y? Sumting ronge?”

How was this kid an acclaimed creator of fanfiction? How had she written a 5 page essay that was _still_ used as an example by every teacher he’d ever had? “No, not imminently. It’ll be easier to explain in person. Just keep sending me capybara pictures, okay?”

A string of emojis assured him she would, and he turned back to his door. It was back in its original position, and Damien was even more confused. And for half a second he thought about asking Dad if there was any such curse that one might track home with him… but Dad would never believe he hadn't done this to himself on purpose. Dad would lecture him on and on and on, studying every language on his way to the point. And then if he felt like it, maybe he'd help.

No, Damien decided, he was on his own here. 

He nearly forgot about it until Dad called him some time later, and he ran smack into the wall. His door was now in the corner of the room. Right next to the closet. And when he returned and opened his door, it now only opened partially. It was stuck behind the dresser. 

He didn’t sleep much that night. It didn’t shift every time he looked up, and never while he was looking at it, but now and then, he’d look up from his phone, or from whatever little bit of homework he was supposed to be doing, or even just from the other wall to see what would happen, it would have moved. An inch, usually, in either direction, or a foot sometimes. At one point he was sure it was in the corner of his room. Whenever he looked away, and looked back, it was back to normal. 

He groaned in the back of his throat, rolling over in his bed so he faced away from the door. This… was gonna be fun.   
  


* * *

“Morning, Damien!”

A mass of tentacles and the nebulous concept of infinity tackled him from behind in a hug. This normally would’ve been the equivalent of a squirrel running into a lion, but given that he was running on approximately three hours of sleep, he stumbled slightly as the weight of his youngest friend collided into him. 

Zoe immediately gasped and let him go, moving to catch him in case he didn’t regain his footing. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!”

He rubbed at his face, leaning against the wall as the room slowly stopped spinning. “Serious question…?”

She waited until he was for sure not about to fall over until she took her hand off his arm. “Did something happen?”

“Kinda.”

“What does that mean?”

He thought it was a bit rich of her to ask this, considering she was able to recite all his deepest fears and insecurities mere seconds after the first time they’d met before he’d even introduced himself. But anyway, he didn’t want to discuss this with Zoe, at least, not exclusively. If she didn’t have answers, she would just run the risk of blabbing anything he told her, and he’d have to deal with the rumour mill. 

“Council meeting.”

She blinked and glanced down at her clothes, (green frog sneakers, overalls and a rainbow-striped quarter-sleeve) presumably considering how not properly dressed she was for an impromptu meeting of the student council. “Really?”

“Polly came to school in a bikini once, I think you’ll be okay.”

“Uh… okay, I’ll help you get everyone else.” With that, she gently led him along the hall, like he didn’t already know the goddamn building. Maybe she was just gaging whether or not she’d need to catch him again. Maybe she would. 

* * *

As much as everyone in the student council annoyed him, he admittedly felt some slight semblance of comfort as one by one, he and Zoe rounded up each member of the student council. Something reassuring as Miranda and Polly strode in late, still yammering away as they touched up their perfect makeup. As Scott and Calculester popped up right where they always met moments after they’d texted, and slightly sweet as Liam showed up dead last, and immediately asked who had interrupted his daily Picstagram shoot, only to look incredibly concerned when Damien waved to him. 

“You look horrible,” he informed him reflexively. 

“... thanks.”

“I, um- I didn’t mean-!”

“It’s okay. I know I look horrible. I got like three hours of sleep.”

Polly and Miranda finally looked up from their debate about the finer uses of eyeshadow. “Wait, seriously? _Three hours?_ Why?”

“The average seventeen-year-old Antichrist of your build and lifestyle needs roughly 7-12 hours of sleep every night to accommodate for their developing brains, bodies and demonic powers,” said Calculester as if Damien didn’t know that. 

“Guys, _shush!”_ Hissed Scott. “Let him speak!”

Damien sighed, and stood up. “I hereby call this meeting of the student council to order. Our first and only order of business is to address the discovery of a new type of curse that causes the doors of the subject to move.”

There was predictable gasping and mumbling following this announcement. Damien flopped back down and Zoe stood up, phone in her hand and Necronomicon on the table in front of her. “On Sunday afternoon, at approximately 11:34 PM, Damien reported noticing his door moving by means of reporting his symptoms to the Secretary of Curses (me), who did her best to compare them to anything in preexistence but found nothing. Therefore I can only determine that Damien has been afflicted by something that has been newly created, specifically for him-”

“If it pleases and frightens, I have an urgent thought that I feel needs to be shared,” said Miranda. 

“Yeah?”

She didn’t. Then she looked annoyed. Then she leaned as close to him as his position at the podium would allow. “Give me the _floor_ , Damien,” she whispered irritably. 

“Miranda, it’s literally just us here, just say your thing.”

“We are engaging in a discussion in a political setting, we _will_ abide by the rules.”

He groaned. “ _Terrent omnes timoribus_. Miranda Vanderbilt has the floor.”

She stood in all her Student Council President Glory, and immediately began speaking like she was at a less-than-democratic debate. “Admittedly, Damien’s tale sounds harrowing. It _does_ , sweetie, don’t get me wrong, but, we’ve only seen its effects take place on one person over the course of two to three days. We don’t even know where it might have come from.”

“So?”

“ _So,_ what we need to do before we even think of the _word_ ‘cure’, is we need to figure out, where’d this thing come from? Because Damien, you’re the Antichrist, curses shouldn’t even work, right?”

He shrugged, but knew the answer. This was true, curses weren’t supposed to work on him and he knew it. 

“Well, what do you suggest we do then?” Asked Vera as she filed her nails to vicious points.

“The first thing we need to do is determine the parameters of this curse. Damien-?”

But Damien was already sat bolt upright, any semblance of sleepiness forgotten. “Did you guys see that?” He asked urgently. 

“See what?”

“The door! For like a second it was there!” He pointed to a spot on the wall that the door was definitely not. “And then I looked and it wasn’t anymore!”

Everyone looked grimly at the door, waiting to see if it would move again. It didn’t, but they didn’t break their gaze. 

“Hey,” said Scott. “You know what I think, I think it would be super rad if Damien and I hung out outside today. How about it, Bro?”

“It will be difficult to gather data if Damien is not in an environment where there are doors,” Cal put in reasonably. 

“What’s to gather, the door moved and Damien’s freaked out, we know everything we need to.”

“If I may suggest an alternative?” Said Zoe. “Damien, you say the door moved back when you looked at it?”

“Yeah,” said Damien, not daring to look away. 

“Well, what if during the day, someone keeps an eye on the door and keeps tabs on how often it moves?”

“I’ll do it!” Scott said immediately. 

“Scott, you famously can’t count past eight.”

“It’s the number that rhymes!”

Cal sighed. “I will be with Damien.”

“Don’t need to be babysat. Can confirm, will be watching the doors like a fucking chicken hawk.”

“Analyzing... conviction in statement: 17%. Overall honesty: 21%. Probability of compliance: 0%.”

He groaned. “Whatever. Anything else?”

“I should go find the coven- I think we need to have a little chat. Even if they didn’t do this, they might know something.”

“You’re just saying that because you think they’re cute.”

“Maybe.”

Damien laughed through his nose. “Meeting fucking _adjourned_ , you losers.”

Scott tousled his hair on his way out, nearly knocking Damien to the floor. “I’ll take you out later,” he promised in an undertone. 

“I know you will,” he muttered, resting his head on his arms. “If I don’t walk you you might fuckin’ eat somebody.”

As Calculester re-shifted his belongings into his portable holding unit, prattling on about something or other, Damien couldn’t help thinking about how damn comfortable this podium was. Had it always been like this?

“... have a few working theories, Damien,” Calculester was saying when he turned around. “In fact, as soon as we get started, we-... oh.” Damien was already drooling on the desk, dead to the world and ignoring anything academic. 

So, you know. A pretty normal day for Damien. 

“Damien?” Cal called with a little shake of his shoulder. 

Damien’s eyes snapped open. He vaulted over the podium and went to sprint out of the room, miscalculated where the door was and ran smack into the wall. With a scream of “FUCKING MAGIC DOOR FUCK YOU!!!!” He was back on his feet and back to running. 

Cal sighed and followed along. He was an idiot. But he was very cute. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me?
> 
> Good! That’s good! Ok! So now, please be nice to me and I might post chapter 2... later!


	2. Trapped by Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I hope I got everybody and Student Council Positions are made up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, thankfully, doesn’t have much in the way of triggers. Just some mentions of food, a few PDAs and mentions of curses working like viruses. Enjoy!

Damien slept through five periods. Which was a normal day for Damien. And Calculester kept a very close eye on the door. 

When he woke up near the end of the fifth, he cast a glance to the door. It didn’t shift the first time. Then when he looked again, it was a full foot away from where it started. After the few days he'd had, this didn't frighten him initially, but then it didn’t move back. It just sat there, flickering in and out of being a door and a blank spot of wall. It glitched about 17 times, and it didn’t move back to normal until he rushed for it, and didn’t collide with the spot where it used to be again, but it did move back at the last second. And then he fumbled his way through and raced out of the room. 

He barely noticed he’d left Cal behind until he came racing up behind him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. How often did it move?”

“Insufficient data. Ask again later.”

“Wh-?! Can’t you make an educated guess?!”

“Later.”

He huffed, but let the subject drop as Scott and Miranda ran up to them. 

“We made sandwiches! Who’s ready to skip some classes?”

“Class and Not Class are like the same thing, except one’s… different!!”

Damien dared to laugh. “Sure. Why not?”

They sat around with their sandwiches, hidden under a canopy of trees behind the track, watching the world go by as they ate. Well, most people ate, Damien picked at his food and Cal scribbled some algorithms in a notebook. 

“So… sweetie… I had another thought,” said Miranda, tossing a crow a piece of ham. 

“Yeah?”

“I thought we weren’t gonna bring this up,” said Scott. 

“What?”

“It was nothing,” said Scott firmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

He continued to worry, but the conversation had clearly ended. “I’m, uh… have any of you heard anything from Zoe?”

“Slayer bumped into her, messed up her notes,” Scott explained. “She said she’d catch up with us later.”

“In the meantime, it’s time to seriously consider what you did to piss someone off, Damey,” said a voice from the trees.

He nearly had a heart attack. “Polly!!! Don’t _do_ that!!!”

She giggled and floated down. “Sorry, hun. Question stands though- why would anyone curse you?”

Damien was about to say “Um, _all_ the reasons,” when Scott looked confused. “Why _would_ anyone curse you?” He asked in complete earnest. “You’re _amazing._ ”

“... did you miss the constant destruction of property and general disregard for safety?”

“That’s everyone in this school.”

“Okay but, dude, I don’t have any redeeming qualities, everyone else-”

“You punched out Leonard when he criticized Zoe.”

“Come on, Leonard is a douche anyway, and she was crying and everything-”

“You choked out Scotty’s cousin when he wouldn’t stop grabbing my ass.”

“Wearing a bikini was no excuse to touch you!”

“You helped Zoe smuggle Potato into algebra.”

Damien buried his face in his hands. His cheeks were burning. 

“Have I mentioned every time you’ve been in the girl’s bathroom just to be there for our ladies?”

“Oh come on, even _you’ve_ chased Vera into the girl’s room!”

The next few minutes passed thusly, with a mermaid, a dog and a ghost all describing his best qualities. According to witnesses, he _had_ them. 

“You guys are so dumb.”

“No, you’re just amazing.”

“I am fucking _not_.”

”Am fucking _too.”_

“I’m WAAUG!!!” The last came as he was abruptly lifted into the air. “ _SCOTT!!!_ ”

“Admit you’re superior to other demons!”

“ _No!!”_

“Go on! Admit you’re awesome!”

“Put me the fuck down!!!”

“Nah, Bro, you’re doing enough of that!”

The girls were giggling, which wasn’t doing much for the situation. “Hon- just say something nice about yourself and you can get down.”

He groaned. “I’m nice to Zoe’s dog.”

“Damn right, gimme another!”

“I dunno, I, uh, I’m kinda hot?”

“Good enough, one more!”

“Fuck, I- I’m good at arson?”

“Secretary of arson right here, everybody!!!” With that, Damien was dropped back into Scott’s lap, as his buddy beamed, his face full of victory. 

“Scott. Scotty. Scotty my boy. Can I get down now?”

“Aw, and lose my personal lap warmer?” 

“I swear I’m gonna stab you.”

“Y’know, Damien, a lot of girls would _kill_ to be in your place,” Miranda pointed out.

“I’d welcome death.”

* * *

“Hi, ladies!”

Zoe stood before the coven, well aware of what she was wearing and how unpresentable she was. But she had to do this. This was for Damien. 

The coven looked up at her, all with equally unimpressed stares. None of them said anything. 

“Is that seat taken?” She asked, nodding to the lone plastic chair at the circular table. “I just need to talk to you.”

They stared at her. And they looked around at each other. Then they all sighed in unison. 

“Fine,” said Joy. “Why not.”

Zoe sat down with them, tray of food secondary to her pad of paper. “I hope you don’t mind if I bother you all-”

Hope mumbled something. The other two burst into giggles. 

“Aha, yeah, _but_ , I need to talk to you about this new curse my buddy’s dealing with.”

_That_ got their attention. They all quit giggling almost immediately, turning to look at their significantly younger, significantly less cool peer. 

“What?” Faith asked quietly. 

“Yeah, my friend Damien. You think you have a crush on him, but you’re sure he has a thing for Joy, who is the person you’re actually feeling things-?”

“ _Enough_ ,” snapped Joy. “What new curse? Symptoms. Describe it. _Now.”_

Zoe immediately obliged, telling the three witches everything she knew, everything Damien had told her in as much detail as she had. 

“Yyyyeeeeaaah… we haven’t made this one,” said Faith, looking up from her homemade spell book. “The most recent one is from a few months ago, and it wasn’t cast on Damien.”

“Can you tell me what it did, anyway?”

“It just made any box of cereal you opened have, like, not the kind you wanted when you went to get a bowl. Nothing like this.”

Zoe furrowed her brow and scrawled that in her notes, just in case. “Is there any way that might have broken off into, like, different strains of similar curses?”

“No way. If it did, it would be, like, _way_ more contagious by now. It’d be spreading like the fucking plague.”

There was a silence that grew steadily more panicked by the second. 

“If you’ll excuse me. I need to go organize a survey. Like now.”

“You do that,” said the coven as they went to test themselves for any curse strains. Zoe had never been in such a hurry to leave the cafeteria either- not even when her Trans Naruto fanfic got comments she had to read. 

* * *

The overhead announcement alert sounded with a loud stock _AIEEEEEEEEE!!!!_

_“Good afternoon, students and faculty, it’s your secretary of curses, Zoe, here to tell you there’s a survey I’m gonna need you to fill out in the lobby today before you leave? That’s a survey in the lobby that everyone’s gonna need to fill out and turn in before they leave, and if you don’t I’m gonna have to confiscate your soul, please and thank you!”_

With another _AIEEEEEEEEE!!!!_ , Zoe was done and skipped out of the office with her notes in her arms. 

Cal was already by her locker, looking puzzled. She raced up to him and, as always, greeted him with a hug. “How’d it go?”

“Data collection was… inconsistent.”

“How do you mean?”

“Amount of door movements as observed by Calculester Hewlett-Packard: 0. Amount of door movements as occurred by Damien LaVey: at least 1.”

Well that… made less than sense. “Is it possible you miscounted?”

“Impossible. My directive was to count the amount of door movements. I recorded none.”

“Maybe, uh… maybe your eyes glitched or something?”

Cal looked unconvinced, but he said, “this is… possible.”

“I’ve already set up the survey, so if this is a school wide phenomenon, we’ll know by morning. And I’m working on a logbook for Damien to bring us back, just to see how many times, and… and…” slowly, Zoe stopped talking, and sighed softly. 

“... Friend Zoe?”

“Callie? Can I ask you something?”

“Irrelevant question; you are in possession of all physical speaking apparatuses and cognizant function that would render you capable of inquiry.”

“Oh you know what I meant.”

“Confirmed. Ask away.”

“Do you think… do you think the door can move to where he can’t access it?”

“It is possible. I would venture to say probable. During the recorded movement of the door today, he described it… glitching.”

Zoe bit her lip. “We gotta figure out this curse. Soon.”

“Agreed.” 

And humans had figured out curses. They’d started cataloguing and naming them things like “amoebic dysentery” and “salmonella”.

He only wished Damien’s curse was as simple. 

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur. 

He, Scott, Miranda and Polly spent most of it outside, watching the clouds, students and wildlife. He even got it into his head to start a few small fires, which delighted them all. Polly even set off some fireworks with the flames, which almost hit Leonard in the face. Luckily, they missed and hit his legs.

“Sorry!” She wasn’t. 

“It’s okay! Don’t need ‘em!”

There was laughter around the group. 

“How’s everything feeling, buddy?” Asked Scott, when everything subsided. 

“Yeah, are you feeling any side-effects? Dizziness? Nausea? An urge to eat human flesh?”

“No.” And that was the truth. He didn’t feel anything unusual. Granted, occasionally he thought he heard someone say something, then would turn to Scott and he’d be staring at a squirrel in silence. But that was probably nothing. He never heard what it was saying anyway. It wasn’t like it was urging him to eat babies. It was just… mumbling. 

_I’m sure it’s fine._

“Have you…” Polly shifted uncomfortably. “Have you told your dads yet?”

“ _No._ Nononono, we are _not_ telling my dads.”

“Why not?” Asked a voice from the dark woods. 

Everyone jumped. _“Liam!!!”_

“What? It is a reasonable question. Your fathers, as kings of hell, might know something about curses we don’t.”

“More than Z’gord the Destroyer of Minds?”

“Even if they don’t, wouldn’t they be able to offer you some semblance of relief?”

Damien huffed. “Not after a very long lecture about how I _‘need to stop getting involved in the crossfires of magical feuds,’_ and how _‘underdeveloped my powers are,’_ and how I _clearly_ can’t handle myself and _‘can’t restrain myself from getting into shit with other demons.’”_ With an eye roll so massive it might have impressed Liam, he rolled off Scott’s lap and onto the quilt they were lying on, more or less sulking. 

“It seems a lecture may be the least of your worries,” said Liam in an undertone. 

“Look, it’s _fine_ . I’m dealing more or less on my own. And… besides… it’s not like I’m totally alone. I have _some_ help that isn’t totally incompetent.”

Liam smiled. Coming from Damien, that was high praise. “Aww. You appreciate us.”

“Liam, Satan as my witness I’m gonna wear you like a ring pop if you don’t shut up.”

“... is that a threat or are you coming on to me?”

“I can’t even remember anymore.”

“Anyway,” said their hipster vampire, withdrawing a small spiral notepad out of his pocket, “I’ve been sent to deliver this to you. With the orders to tell you to catalogue any door movements you notice, anywhere, until further notice.”

He accepted the book, considering it. There were spaces for him to fill out times the door moved, spaces to catalog how long it moved and when it moved back, and even how far from its original position it was.

“I still don’t see what’s to catalogue here,” said Scott. “I mean- the door’s moving around, what’s to keep track of?”

“We have to determine if there’s any consistent pattern, my furry compatriot.”

“Uh… it happens when he’s not looking!”

“Aw. You were listening.”

“Always.”

Damien shrugged, but slid his book into his pocket. “I don’t even know where to start. I don’t even know who _did_ this. _You_ don’t think you know who did this, do you Lee?”

“Unfortunately, no. But if I’d had to bet, I’d have said the slayer was awfully quiet as of late.” He gazed off into the distance, furrowing his brow in that absolutely maddeningly perfect way. “Almost like she’s planning for something _big.”_

“Like… ‘curse the Antichrist’ big?” Asked Polly. 

“It is entirely possible, my Paulina.” He extended her an elbow, careful not to poke out from the shaded safety of his umbrella. “Shall we saunter about the school and see if she tests out another of her ridiculously racist ideas of how to kill monsters?”

She giggled and accepted his arm, linking cheerfully with him. “It would make me the happiest girl dead!”

Damien watched as they sauntered away. “ _God,_ they’re dorks.”

“Says Mr. Pokeman’s cosplay award winner 7 years running.”

_“I play a killer Red!!”_ He pelted Miranda with lunch meat as she giggled. 

Scott chortled. Then he froze. “Hold that thought.” With that, he was bounding into the woods to chase a squirrel. 

As Scott and Miranda sat there, Miranda contouring with a blush that did no favours for her cheekbones, and Damien thumbing through the pages of the pad over and over and over again, Damien finally plucked up the courage to say what he’d been wanting to all afternoon. “Hey, Princess?”

“Yeeeez?”

“Earlier, you said you had a thought? What was it? I mean, they’re so rare and all.”

They chuckled as she threw the lunch meat back at him. Then she sighed. “... you know how you mentioned that sometimes doors are hard to get to or you can’t reach them?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe avoid arson for a while sweetie- it’s just… if there’s an emergency with your curse, and you can’t get out, I don’t know what I’d do.”

He nodded, thought he heard himself promise he would, but he was admittedly now distracted. Miranda had raised a possibility he hadn’t even thought of. 

So far, when the doors flickered, or when they were inaccessible, they always came back. But what if they… didn’t? What if that was whoever’s plan the whole time? To trap him somewhere and… and… and do any number of horrible things. 

How would he get away?

How was he gonna get out?

What if he _never_ got out?

He continued the day with the ones he lo- cared for, even though all he wanted was to scream and flee into the woods.


	3. Nine Rings (or are there?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien finds out whether or not the door can straight up vanish. Spoiler alert: it can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warning time. This chapter details Damien’s first major episode, and he does not take it well. He gets pretty damn close to a panic attack in this part, and while he doesn’t get there, I do describe things as they happen. This chapter contains self injury, panic, distorted reality, self deprecating intrusive thoughts, and a bit of monster racism. 
> 
> Please be careful.

Please don’t be mad. He considered not going home that day. 

He knew, it was stupid. He knew it wouldn’t fix anything. He knew he’d worry his dads to death if he just didn’t come home without so much as a phone call. But he couldn’t stand the thought of his bedroom being the last place he ever was. Couldn’t stand the idea that whoever it was would trap him in his own home. But after some secondary thought (which is two more thoughts than Damien usually has), he realized his only alternative was to live outside, and he couldn’t just wander aimlessly around forever, and that he’d end up being dragged back to hell eventually anyway, so why delay the inevitable _Damien._

Anyway. Walking back was weird. Each step was like slowly taking on another ten pounds, and he vaguely wondered why he bothered with the backpack if he didn’t even do any actual schoolwork. He was home a full forty-five minutes later than usual, and when he finally got there, he just… stood there. Staring at his house. He must’ve looked like every single person he’d ever brought here. 

He remembered Scott saying once that it wasn’t a house, it looked like a friggin’ fortress. The outer walls glimmered black, and those were fenced in by two-story high iron-rod gates. 

Even with all that, he knew he wasn’t going to be permitted to sleep out in the yard. So, he told himself to man up, and slipped through the fence, grateful that _that_ was staying still. His dad’s garden, the one that had tempted so many mortals, barely got his attention as he made his way to the door and heaved it open. 

He trudged up the steps, between black columns, through a black marble portico, and into the house. He was grateful it was empty- usually it was full of human guards in battle dress. Ancient Greek, Japanese samurai, every era of American history, you name it. Dad must have taken them off somewhere.

Of all the bedrooms he may have to spend eternity in, he thought with a halfhearted slam of his door, this one wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was a pretty rad room, considering-

Where was the door. 

He froze for half a second, then ran to the wall, feeling the spot where the door had been. Nothing. It was like there was never a door there at all, it was just a barren, off-blue wall where the door should have been. 

He leaned all his weight into the door, as if he thought it might give way under the strain. Then he began scratching, his heart giving a few extra beats just to punctuate the situation. His heartbeat was soon all he could hear, then he realized that was the sound his fists were making, pounding on the wall with all his might. 

Why couldn’t he break through?

_Why couldn’t he fucking break through?_

He’d punched through this wall more times than he could count, for less than this- why wasn’t this working, why was he denied exit, why couldn’t he get out?!

_You’re never going to get out._

It was an oddly placed thought. It didn’t feel like it was 100% organic, but he had bigger problems than that at the moment, so he let it slide. 

Minutes felt like years. It was like a vice was slowly tightening around his chest. But he was quickly forced to accept that there was no way out here. He would die and there was no one around to save him. Nobody would hear him if he yelled, and he must have been yelling, because he was so out of breath he felt like he’d been running for miles. He could hear his blood roaring in his ears, his limbs pulsing with-

“Your highness?”

He jolted. The door was… back? It was just back. And someone was knocking on it. One of the new guards, a few years older than he was, only 20-something. What was her name? Mindy? Mandy? Something like that. 

He opened the door. There she was. Fist raised for another knock, looking confused and concerned. 

“Are you okay, my liege?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t even care she was calling him by prince names. “Yeah, fine. In the middle of something, that’s all.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she did leave him alone. Damien nearly closed his door again before thinking better of it, and backing away from it like he was afraid it might bite him. 

And, well, while admittedly it hadn’t _bitten_ him, it _had_ roughed him up pretty decently. Now that adrenaline was steadily falling, he could feel the pulsing in his fingers, hands and arms. Several considerably sized bruises were thinking about forming, and he’d even ripped up some of the more fragile skin on his hands. 

Damien laid back on the bed, trying to stop breathing quite so hard, as he tried to work out what just happened. 

Okay. So. Doors can straight up vanish now. So the goal of this curse was… what? To disorient him? To trap him? The idea made him feel like he’d swallowed liquid nitrogen. If that was it, then who was trapping him? And why?

_It must be the church. Someone’s taken out a hit on you. Someone wants you dead._

There it was again! It didn't sound like a separate voice, rather, it sounded like that nebulous, indescribably voice in his head that had always been there. It was like one of his thoughts had just… gone rogue. But it also wasn’t wrong. So he just accepted it. 

_Focus. Someone wants you dead._

Okay. So someone had done this because they’d pulled a hit on him. But that still begged the question of who would do that. 

_Who_ wouldn’t _do that? The Slayer, any of the goblins, Faith, that kid from fifth period, Leslie, that guy we don’t know the name of..._

A soft _Bing_ pulled him out of his musings. A message from the group chat. It was a video of Miranda’s weird, naked cat attacking her foot. “Regicidal Bingus!” She declared. 

“:OOOOO Crimez!!!!” Zoe observed astutely. 

_Bing._ A picture of the cat under an upside-down laundry basket. “Jail (:”

_Maybe it was one of them._

Damien chose to ignore that and instead engaged in banter regarding Miranda’s funny looking cat. 

This… didn’t work much. 

The goblin could only distract for so long before he found his gaze slowly drifting back toward the door. He didn’t realize it was happening at first but then once it had, he didn’t want to look away. 

_If you look away it will move._

He knew that. He wasn’t stupid. 

_Could’ve fooled me._

He moved off his bed and onto the floor. The rug was only slightly better than sitting on the actual paneling, but it grounded him better than being on the bed. The floor was there. The floor wasn't leaving. He was aware of his phone going off, he didn't dare look away to check it. He just slowly pulled out his notebook and a pen that had rolled under his bed and caught on the rug (it wasn't out of reach by some mercy). But, it was like his limbs didn't belong to him. Like they knew before he did that he had to start recording. 

He knew he was writing that the door could vanish now. He knew he jotted down, “door can vanish, no clue how long for, who’s doing this??”, but for some reason looking down didn’t feel that important. He needed to focus. He needed to keep the door in his line of sight. If he didn’t-

His phone rang. “Oh, fuck, who’s calling me?” He didn’t dare look. “Please not now. I’m busy.”

It kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Uncommonly long time. Okay. Okay. Now’s not the time for phone. Now's the time to focus. 

He stared at the door until his eyes hurt. It flickered now and then, but he was starting to get the hang of this. 

_Of course you are. It’s so simple. Even you can understand that. Even a sociopathic, spoiled brat such as you._

He felt his eyes pulse. Aching. Blinking made the door flicker. Sometimes it even shifted. The shifts were lasting for… hours now? Minutes? It was hard without looking away. Cal would’ve scolded him for his lack of variables. 

_I bet Calculester would look away if he had to. But then, Calculester can’t be killed with water that some old virgin_ talked at hard, _right?_

When did it get dark?

* * *

He heard footsteps approaching his bedroom. Voices speaking quietly. He wanted to move but he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. 

The footsteps stopped in front of his room. “See?” Said a voice softly. “I told you, he’s fine.”

“Hrm.” Footsteps strode into his bedroom. 

“Don’t. He’s asleep.”

“He’s on the floor, Stanley.”

“He’s slept in weirder places.”

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Damien?”

His eyes opened abruptly. His bedroom was in complete darkness. Lucien was crouching in front of him, looking as concerned as he ever did, Stan standing behind him in the doorway. 

“Shit. What time is it?” He asked, trying to stand up. His limbs were stiff and protested with each movement. Maybe clobbering the wall wasn’t a _great_ solution to being trapped. 

“Late,” Lucien stressed, helping him to his feet. 

“What were you doing there?” Asked Stan.

“Uh, nothing.” He was grateful it was too dark to see his notebook. 

“Nothing.” Those blank, white eyes bore through him and searched for answers. But what could he say? That he was on the floor to watch the door flit in and out of reality? That he was trying to figure out who had cursed him to either trap him or kill him? That the whole situation was his fault anyway, so he didn’t need to burden his parents with the knowledge that their only son had gotten the attention of someone mad enough to invent a curse for him?

_At least that last part is true._

“Yeah. Really, Dad, it’s… it was nothing.”

“Damien Azazel LaVey, are you really attempting to lie to the king of hell?”

Damien dropped his gaze; fuck, three whole names. 

“ _Lucien_ ,” Stan chided. “This can wait until morning. Please?”

Lucien didn’t break his gaze. “I do not appreciate things being hidden from me in my own home. Especially when they cost my son his sleep.”

“The boy is 17, my dark darling, it’s only natural he has his secrets and his silence. As long as he isn’t doing any real damage…”

Damien squeezed one hand on his opposing bicep, arm tense and tight to his side. He chose not to think about the interrogation he’d be put through if he ever did “actual damage.”

“Damien,” said Stan softly. “Look at me.”

He obeyed. Dad looked so tired and so done with his shit, but he was doing a damn good job of pretending he wasn’t. He couldn’t drag him into more shit. Couldn’t give either of them a reason to go off on him. They needed him to be responsible for one goddamn time. 

So he did the only logical thing. “I was working on a side-project and I lost track of time. I’m sorry.” The last two words felt alien in his mouth but he said them because there was nothing else to say. 

Lucien sighed and patted his arm. “ _Thank_ you son. Was _that_ so painful?”

Damien didn’t answer. Colour rushed to his face. “Did you guys need something?” He mumbled. 

“Just your word you’ll eat something as soon as possible.”

“Promise.”

“That’s my boy. Lucien? Shall we?”

Lucien pushed Damien gently on the shoulders, sending him back onto the bed in a sitting position. Fuck, had he been that unsteady?

His dads finally left, and he nearly screamed for them not to close the door. Luckily, Red Dad never closed it completely. So, when he heard their door shut, he slowly made his way over and opened it again. 

He lay there for a long time trying to sleep. But his head was abuzz with activity, and out of desperation, he reached for his notes. His handwriting was a mess. But, he hadn’t been looking down, of course it looked weird. 

Exhausted and confused and humiliated, Damien let the notes fall to the floor, and the last thing he remembered thinking was, “I’ll touch them up in the morning. God I’m exhausted.”

* * *

Night was the best time to explore the school. 

She could still remember the first time she’d gotten into this place. The first time she saw a _monster._ She’d been completely unprepared. She’d walked in expecting this to be like any old hit job. Had embarrassed herself by loading off a dozen rounds in that one fear kid’s chest, only to then be burned by his fire girlfriend and nearly eaten by her zombie boyfriend. She tried to take out the zombie with a quick-placed bullet to the head, but the Frankenstein girl leapt in front of him and all it did was knock off her head. 

Now? Nighttime? She had a chance to prepare. 

She’d learned during one of her night raids that the Antichrist could be immobilized with The Lord’s Prayer. And that if you asked the werewolf basic math he’d stand there stupidly and try to figure it out while you did whatever you did. Pages and pages of details about weaknesses about the biggest, scariest, ugliest monsters in the whole building they called a school. 

And she’d found it all right here. In the weird office they called a “student council room.” Each of their seats had placards with their names on them, some with normal positions like “student council president” and “treasurer” and “secretary”, and some with made up positions like “Secretary of Arson” and “Secretary of Curses”.

Psh. Monsters, man. 

Anyway, she made her way slowly to the place that the weird computer sat at, and began looking through its notes. All of them, for some reason, were about the demon. 

Hm. Someone had cursed him. Something about… the door? It was moving around? She scoffed. It sounded like a weird curse. She kept reading. 

“... While Damien [affectionate]’s reports of door movements have consistently had the door move back to its original position, Miranda [affectionate] has noted that it is possible that the door could become inaccessible. This is highly probable, considering reports of doors flickering. NOTE: experiment with closed doors. Have Vera [affectionate] monitor tomorrow. Vera is well versed in the management of anxiety. Snakes are cognizant enough to keep track of…”

Okay… lotta boring stuff, but there were a few bullet points to take away from all this. That the door was moving, that the snake bitch would be with him, and that the Antichrist was scared of doors now. 

The Antichrist was scared of doors now. The very concept was almost comical. But it gave her the opportunity to trap him in ways she otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. 

She’d finally have use for that water gun of holy water. Or those crosses she kept around. 

Wait… her thoughts immediately turned to the closet on the third floor. The one that closed and wouldn’t open unless someone opened it for you from the outside. She’d spent a full four days there once. 

She felt herself smile. Oh yes. This was going to be a _very_ good prank indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact- Damien’s middle name is Hebrew for “King of Devils”. I thought that was neat.


	4. I think I had a nightmare like this once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slayer plays a little prank on Damien. It becomes rapidly not so little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok- this chapter? It’s bad news bears. This chapter contains ableist language, fantasy racism, self deprecation, self injury as result of hallucinations, non-reality and a serious panic attack. It’s ok if you need to sit this one out. Take care of yourself.

Calculester Hewlett-Packard came in bright and early Tuesday morning, with absolutely nothing he could do. 

He had found nothing in his research. He’d texted Damien at about 8:45 to try to get some rest, and he must have taken his advice and slept, because he hadn’t received the usual string of “UUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH” gifs and texts. And he’d never been more proud. Being cursed was incredibly physically, mentally, and emotionally taxing, and sleep, now, was more important than ever to his growth and development. 

And the fact that Damien was a slow starter gave him plenty of time to research. 

Granted he… hadn’t found anything. But he was sure there was something. Some logical explanation for why he couldn’t see the door move, even after Damien insisted it did. There was, after all, a logical explanation for everything. He had promised Damien he’d find it. 

Vera walked in, satchel carefully set down in her seat, as she made her way to Calculester’s spot. “Good morning, dear,” she said in that charmingly affectionate purr that held just the tiniest flicker of sadism. 

“Vera [affectionate]! Good morning, you are here early.”

“Yeah, I want the footnotes on what I’m doing today,” she said, sliding in beside him. 

“Damien will be bringing notes back with his observations on his door’s movements today. They should help you prepare adequately for the task at hand.”

“So… what do I do if the door _does_ disappear?”

“Then you immediately alert one of us and divert your focus to steadying Damien and keep him calm. He will likely be extremely unhappy, in the unlikely event that if does occur, so be prepared for some light lashing out.”

“Right. Okay. Emotional support Gorgon. I can do that.”

“It is perfectly acceptable if you cannot.”

“It’ll be fine, Cal. Curse or no curse it’s still just Damien, right?”

At this point, Damien trudged in, looking like he’d been hit by a bus, gotten to his feet, only to be hit by another bus. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the previous day, eyes bleary and barely open, and for a split second, you might think he was sporting a bold new look… but then you’d realize his hair was just a nightmare. 

Vera stared at him. Calculester stared at him. “Yeesh. Good morning, sunshine.”

“Damien [affectionate]. You look unwell. However, it is customary that I greet you in the standard fashion; good morning.”

He groaned. “H’llo,” he croaked as he staggered to his seat and flopped down. 

“Damien. Correct me, as I am still new to the routines and customs of organic life forms. But it is my understanding that most organic beings sleep to restore their energy, which you were depleted of when we last saw you.”

“Mmhm,” he mumbled as he cradled his chin in one hand. 

“Therefore it would stand that the additional hour of sleep I recommended should have improved your state of being, physically mentally and emotionally.”

“I guess. I dunno. Fuck me I’m so tired.”

Vera and Calculester exchanged glances. “Uh… Damien, dear? Callie tells me you were writing in a book about your door? Do you have that with you?”

He nodded. 

“Can we see it?”

With a yawn, he obliged. “I’m sorry, guys, I’m fucking wiped out.”

“That’s okay, dear,” said Vera, standing up to pluck the notebook from where it sat. She flipped through it, looked puzzled, then tossed it to Calculester and immediately set about fixing the mess on top of Damien’s head. 

Calculester opened the journal, and immediately froze. 

Oh. _Oh._ To borrow a phrase Liam was partial to, “That’s a really bad.”

Damien’s handwriting was usually a mess; but, it was borderline illegible now. He must have been scribbling frantically, because rather than sentences constructed of words and ending in punctuation, Damien had made a mess of pen ink in the semblance of language if you asked someone with a brain injury to write the alphabet backwards with their left hand, and also their eyes closed. 

This… was going to be one of his harder translations. 

“Did you… have any difficulty writing this?” Cal asked casually. 

“I can't remember, it was… fuck me, it was, a time? Dark time? That's not a time.”

“Ok, sweetheart, nothing about this is functional. Here,” Vera fished into her pocket and pulled out a tiny red pill and a bottle of something with the Japanese character for “wake up” written in permanent marker. “Swallow this. You'll feel better.”

Damien obeyed as she continued to fuss over his hair. Almost immediately his eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright. “... Sweet fucking shrimp, Heather, what was that.”

“Don't worry about it. Better?”

“... less tired.”

“I'll take it.” She nodded at her work, satisfied, planted a brief kiss on his head and sauntered back to her seat.

“Good morning, my dears,” said Liam, who had appeared at his seat. 

“ _Dude!!_ You _gotta_ quit doing that!!”

“Doing what? Talking?”

“You know what I mean, you colossal teleporting dork!” 

“Hm, quite. How has your situation improved, my prince of darkness?”

“It fucking hasn't. Next question.”

“Fine. Is that the same outfit you were wearing yesterday?”

“ _Next_ question.”

The next question took a while to come. And it came from Scott, of all people. He strode in, threw his backpack into his seat with enviable precision, planted his hands on the table in front of Damien (very rudely breaking his line of sight with the door), and wore an expression of the utmost determination. 

“What did you eat this morning?” He asked firmly, making it clear this topic was not up for retirement. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Damien replied dryly. Then when Scott almost growled he said, “I was distracted, I forgot.”

“How do you _forget_ to eat?” Asked Scott. 

“I was a little preoccupied. I’m sorry, Scott.”

That was two “I’m sorry’s” to two different people in around 36 hours. A new record. 

“Well, luckily I kinda figured you would do this, so I brought you this.” He plopped a few handfuls of what took Damien a few seconds to recognize as Scott Snacks onto the table. Uncommonly tasty, as far as off-brand Japanese snacks go. 

“Uh… thanks?”

“Dig in, bro.” 

“If I do, will you let me watch the door?”

“I'll watch the door for you if that's what it takes.”

Scott now firmly established as the best thing that ever happened to him, Damien obeyed, ripping open a package of meat treats and considering that Scotty had truly stellar branding. 

The rest of the meeting was somewhat of a blur, but whether that was from the near fatal dose of caffeine he'd just ingested or his focus on the door, he didn’t know. He could barely follow what was happening unless someone directly spoke to him. All he caught was Cal asking to keep the notebook and asking Damien to use his phone for note taking from then on. He grunted, but didn’t ask why. 

Anyway, it didn’t seem to matter much. Because within what felt like minutes Vera was attempting to get his attention. 

“Come on. We're almost late to be fashionably late.”

He smiled, stood and followed her, bag slung over one shoulder, Scott Snacks stuffed into his pockets. 

Calculester, meanwhile, transcribed the notebook as best as he could before photographing it and heading to the library to research the symphony of symptoms he was observing. 

He left the notebook by his work station, certain it would be safe to return for it later. But in his focus to follow his hunch, he didn’t notice the pair of green eyes glinting out of the grate of the vent. 

He didn’t notice the soft metal scrape as the Slayer crawled out. 

He didn’t see her grab the notebook and smile.   
  


* * *

Thirty-eight times. 

The door moved thirty-eight times in the span of four periods. And it straight up vanished six times. Damien was keeping a total this time, and as he counted them out, he couldn't help but wonder _why._ Why was this still happening, who was doing this and why were they doing it?

Why wouldn't they just spring their trap and get it over with?

Vera helped. Now and then, he felt a soft, cold weight on his hand. A reminder that even if the door didn't come back this time, he wouldn't be alone. 

_What, now you want Vera to be trapped in here with you? Selfish prick. What if whatever’s chasing you wants her, too? Or what if it doesn’t care if it kills innocent bystanders? What’s your plan then, Prince Repulsing?_

With that happy thought, he grabbed Vera by the hand and raced out of the room with her a full ten minutes before the bell.

“Ow! _Damien!_ What the hell?!”

“I'm sorry,” he said once they were out. “I just, I had to-... it’s dumb.”

Her expression softened. “Did it move?”

“Obviously. Were you not watching?”

She hesitated. “Okay. Okay, dear, let me just go get our things and I'll be right back. Okay?”

He nodded, having no intentions to leave this spot as Vera marched back to get everything he'd made them leave behind in his desperate flight. 

Okay. Okay, now what was he going to do? How was he going to keep himself alive and not trapped without putting his fam in danger? How was he going to convince everyone that they shouldn’t stick around him-

_Especially after_ that _little display._

Right, that was really bad. But, maybe if he just-?

“Hey.”

He turned around so fast he almost smacked into the lockers. He was face-to-face with the Slayer. 

He’d had more than one run-in with this little idiot in his time. And most of the time? She was manageable. Racist, and a bit annoying usually, but sometimes she hit the nail right on the head with how to “destroy the scum of monster-kind,” as she put it. He still had scars from the time she’d hidden in his locker with a squirt gun of holy water. Or the time he’d grabbed a necklace out of Vera’s purse, only to realize after the vomiting set in that she’d replaced it with a rosary. 

And it really didn’t bode well for him that she was wearing that impish, malicious smile she wore every time she did something terrible that hurt a monster at this school. He was immediately tense and ready for the worst. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He demanded. 

“Eventually? The total destruction of monsters. The understanding that monsters aren’t people. To be revered by my kind for eradicating the infection from our world.” She said all this so casually. “But today? I just wanna talk.”

Damien narrowed his eyes. “What about?”

“Nothing much. Just this new curse flitting around. Scary stuff, huh? Pretty freaky, even by your standards.”

His brow creased. “Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate. 

“It must be worse for you.”

Wait. What? “Why would it be worse for me?”

“Well, you know, you being Patient Zero and all.”

Aaaaaaand there it was. “I don’t know what you mean, you racist little goblin.”

“Oh, you know, the moving doors? The thing where you basically need to be babysat now, or you might get stuck somewhere? The Abomination even made you a little notebook.” She pulled the thing out of her pocket, and he felt rage coil around his heart as she flipped it open. “I honestly wish I could read more about what this thing does, cuz this is just a _mess_ , dude. Is like, one of the side effects of this thing sudden illiteracy?”

“Drop it,” snarled Damien. He took a step forward to grab it, only for them to swiftly step out of his grasp, holding the thing tauntingly up.

“I mean, really. I’d heard you were cursed but I didn’t know monsters could become fucking crazoids, too.”

“Slayer. I’m not kidding. Give it the fuck _back.”_

“Aww, why don’t ya come get it, Psycho-Pomp?” She dropped her voice and asked, “or do you need your dog to do that for you, too?”

That did it. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He would’ve known it was a trap if he had just thought for more than two seconds, but he didn’t, all he knew was that Scott _wasn’t_ a dog, and anyone who called him a dog needed to have their throat ripped out with his teeth, and he _wasn’t_ crazy and he _could_ do things for himself thank you very much. 

Just like he was gonna turn this bitch’s bones into clubs for himself. 

He chased her all the way up to the third floor, and hesitated only when he came to a completely empty corridor. Empty, that is, except for one open door. With basic logic and reasoning on his side, he charged for the door and looked in. 

It was… a broom closet? And on the floor lay his notebook. Without really thinking about it, he stepped half inside to pick it up-

Only to receive a hard kick in the back, sending him into the opposing wall. He got a brief glimpse of the Slayer standing there before, to his horror, the door slammed shut, trapping him in darkness. 

He scrambled to his feet and began frantically beating at what he hoped was the door. He felt for the handle, hoping it was dark and not just not there. _“Slayer!”_ He screamed. _“SLAYER!! LET ME OUT!!!”_

He heard her laugh. Heard her say something muffled. 

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Slayer, let me _out!!”_

He didn’t wait for an answer. Rather, he frantically continued trying to break down the door, or bash down the wall-

_Damien, don’t be stupid, the door isn’t there. You know this._

He did. It was true. As he felt at the wall he didn’t feel it anywhere. No cool metal border where the gap in the wall and the door began. No wood differentiated from plaster. The door was gone, and he knew this. 

So, he began frantically feeling his pockets, only to realize he’d left his phone behind. Vera had gone back to get it. 

Okay, so now he had to get out through the wall then. He began pounding with all his might. Kicking. Punching. Clawing. Ramming his shoulder against the thing. He felt the rush of heat to his hands, his arms, his body, desperation to get out growing with each second he was in here.

“As it well should be,” said The Voice. It didn’t sound like it was in his head right now. It sounded like it was directly behind him. He felt the cold, empty presence behind him. Could feel in his guts that something horrible was coming. “The more time you spend in here? The closer the thing that cursed you gets.”

He felt it snake one hand up under one of his arms and close around his throat. The other wrapped around his chest in a slow squeeze that became steadily crushing. 

Yes. Oh god. It was getting closer. It was going to kill him. 

“You’re completely defenseless.”

It was true. He was. 

“No weapons. No way to call for help. No lights. You can’t even breathe.”

He wouldn’t deserve help if he could call for it. 

“Keep trying to get out, then. Don’t waste their time forcing them to look for you.”

Damien made a choked noise. Felt something wet drip off his nose. Continued scratching, banging and begging. “Please. Please. Help me. Anyone. Let me… let me out… please…”

His chest continued to be crushed. He couldn’t force himself to swallow any air. Was that part of the curse?

* * *

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No, I just went to get our stuff, I was gone for maybe three minutes, then he was gone.”

Vera and the rest of the gang were standing by the locker of their spicy red baby, concern heavy in the air. 

“And you’ve got his phone?”

“Yup. So, shooting him a text wouldn’t really work.”

Scott sighed. “One thing for it then. You’ve got his backpack?”

Vera extended it to her werewolf buddy, who took hold of it and began sniffing and pacing. 

At this exact moment, their coach came striding up to them, eager and entirely unaware of the seriousness of the situation he’d stumbled into. 

“Sco-?”

“Don’t talk to me, Coach, I’m getting in The Zone.”

Coach looked confused, but turned to the others. “What are you kids up to? Scavenger hunt?”

“No, we’re trying to find our boyfriend. He’s been cursed to have doors move and disappear, so that might be… difficult.”

“Ooh, mind if I tag along? I love a good boyfriend hunt!”

“It would be useful to have a member of the faculty with us, in case Damien is in an area that is not accessible to students.”

“I’ve even got a faculty ring!” He held it up proudly. “Look at all these keys!”

Scott interrupted with a loud _“AWOOOOO!!!”_

“By that howl, I think he’s got the scent! Let’s move, fam!”

They all ran after Scott, who was entirely focused on his end goal of Damien, and didn’t even notice he was crushing his own best time. 

His race led them directly into… the ass of the Slayer. She looked down, confused, as Scott curiously nosed her. “... uh, excuse me, Dog?”

“Not now, Slayer. We’re looking for Damien and you’ve got his scent all over you.”

Nobody said anything. When it became clear Scott hadn’t understood himself, Liam cleared his throat. “My dearest Wolf? The slayer has Damien’s scent on her.”

“Yup.”

“Damien’s backpack also has his scent on it.”

“That’s right.”

“Because he’s spent time with it?”

“Oh yeah, exactly.”

“And by that logic…?”

Scott blinked. Then he narrowed his eyes and stood up. “... hey!” He jabbed a finger into the Slayer's chest. “You’ve been around Damien!”

“So has everyone around you!”

“... oh my god. You’re right. It could’ve been anyone.” He looked horrified. “It could’ve been _me.”_

Liam was abruptly behind the Slayer. “Enough of this.” He grabbed her backpack, ripped it off her back, held it upside down and shook it. 

A wooden stake. Some garlic. A revolver with silver bullets. Finally, a squirt gun of holy water came clattering to the ground. 

“... hm. Imagine that.”

“I could’ve had that for anyone in this school!”

“Logical Error. You’ve only witnessed holy water have a physical effect on Damien.”

“Look, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I do not have this for your door-phobic boyfriend.” She started to turn and walk away. 

However, at this exact moment, Vera put an arm out on the wall, blocking her exit. She stared at her with venomous green eyes. “We didn’t say anything about Damien being afraid of doors.”

Slayer froze. 

“What did you do to him.”

“Medusa, take it easy, it was just a little joke.”

“What,” Vera hissed. “What, exactly, was just a _little. Joke.”_

Scott lost all patience here. He grabbed the Slayer by the throat, drew up to his full height and slammed her against the wall. “You’ve got exactly five seconds to explain before I rip your head off and eat your insides.”

Coach, by the way, didn’t seem too put off by this. “ _Just_ the insides? All right.”

The Slayer choked and gasped. “T-tric-ked him… (gack)... lo-cked h-im (wheeze) in- th- the cl-os-et…”

“Where?” Scott demanded. She didn’t answer immediately so he tightened his grip and gave her a good shake. _“Where?!”_ He said again, more urgently. 

“Th- third floor! Third floor!!”

Scott dropped her. She crumpled like a rag doll, coughing and gasping and spluttering. 

At the mention of where Damien was, Coach suddenly looked _extremely_ concerned. “The one that won’t open from the inside?” He asked softly. 

The Slayer nodded. 

“We need to get him out of there _now_.”

Nobody needed telling twice. The herd was off once again, thundering up to the corridor of the contained Damien. 

* * *

Damien had just about used up the oxygen in this tiny box of drywall. He was kneeling on the floor, forehead pressed against the lack of door, face wet and limbs ablaze in agony. Of course, this wouldn’t be agony for much longer. 

“You’re going to die, Damien.”

He knew that. At least it would be over soon. 

“Unless they don’t kill you.”

He shook his head frantically. “No no no don’t say that don’t say that.” His chest hurt so much, the mere thought of that only made it worse. Why or how, he didn’t know. He just knew it hurt it hurt it hurt. 

“No less than you deserve, Damien.”

He knew that. 

“You hurt your family. You inconvenience the people that choose to waste their love on you. And how do you repay them? You tank poor Vera’s education. You force Scott and Miranda to babysit you. Why are you like this, Damien?”

He didn’t know. But they’d be better off without-

The wall fell away from his face. He jumped back as the blaring light of the school came pouring into the broom closet. 

* * *

It had been easy enough to pinpoint which closet held Damien- it was the one that Coach led them to, explaining that once closed, it automatically locked itself and could only be opened from the outside, usually with a key. 

Also, the muffled pleading, noises of anguish and fear as well as the scratching kind of gave it away. 

It took Coach a solid minute of fighting with his keys to find the right one. And Damien either couldn’t hear or wouldn’t hear their calling through the door. He clearly wouldn’t be expecting them all to be right there. 

So when Coach finally yelled, “stand clear!” Holding his key aloft, they were all prepared for Damien to freeze, mid-upset, and play it off like a fairly hurtful argument with his dads, or when the finale of Game of Crowns was so beautiful and satisfying but then he realized that it was all over. 

What they didn’t expect was for Damien to scramble back from the open door, with injuries they couldn’t make out but that had left blood and bits of… _stuff_ on the floor in front of the door, eyes glossy and wide, face soaked with tears.

“Damien? You okay?” Called Zoe softly as Miranda gripped her shoulders to stop her from rushing in. 

“Damien, sweetie?” Miranda coaxed. “Can you just say something for us, please?”

Damien appeared to be trying. But this was difficult, he realized very abruptly, as he couldn’t breathe. Oh yes, his chest was desperately expanding and contracting, but no air was circulating, and he was obviously growing more and more upset with each failed attempt to draw in a breath. 

_“Fuck,”_ muttered Liam. _“Fuck,_ what do we do?”

“The operating system is standard to your panic attacks, Liam,” said Calculester.

“What?!” Exclaimed Vera. Damien obviously didn’t speak, but he did look more confused and alarmed at the words. No. No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t _get_ those. He just didn’t. If only he could force himself to take in a breath he’d tell Cal just how wrong he was. If he could just get any fucking _air_ -

“Damien?”

Liam was kneeling in front of him. His hand, cold and soft, ran across his cheek, just past his eye, coming to rest on his jaw. “Can you hear me, My Damien?”

The nod was the tiniest of things, but it was there. And oh god, Liam, please don’t touch me, I might die if you touch me, _please stop touching me-_

“Alright, darling. I won’t touch you anymore. But I do need you to listen to me. Can you listen to me?”

Another minuscule nod. 

“Very good. You need to breathe with me, Damien. Try to breathe through your nose for five seconds.”

Liam demonstrated; Damien tried to imitate, barely making it to three. 

“On fleek, love, now hold that for seven seconds.”

Damien trembled with the effort it took. 

“Good. Now breathe out for eight seconds through the mouth, my fallen angel. Slower, slower… perfect. We’re going to try that again, my Damien, and everyone is going to give us some space to do this.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at the last. 

Damien shook his head frantically. He attempted to say something, but this only disrupted the flow of oxygen until Liam stopped him. 

“Don’t try to speak until you’ve calmed down. Point at who you want here.”

A trembling, bloody hand with a very distinct tear in the finger he used to point gestured shakily to Scott. 

“Aw, Bro, I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

Everyone else slowly left the area, either to stew in the confusion of _Damien LaVey_ having a panic attack, or to be Calculester and Zoe. 

“Friend Zoe. Meet me in the student council room.”

“I’ll be right there. I just need to get something.”

But just before she walked off, she hesitated. “... Callie, did you smell anything… funny?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, while Scotty was tracking Damey just now, I could swear on every star in the sky, I smelled… pistachios.” She sighed. “I know that’s dumb.”

“But pistachios were not being eaten.”

“I know that. Just… I’ll explain when we meet.”

And she rushed off, leaving Calculester more confused than he had been when they went to rescue Damien from a doorless room that still appeared to have a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact- the insult “Psycho-Pomp” is based on something in literature! https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychopomp


	5. Salad with Nuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe and Cal chat as Scott displays a very particular skill set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings aren’t as big as last time, but they are there. This chapter contains disorganized thoughts, specifically word salad, medical jargon, psychological jargon, non reality and some first aid. If you’re a bit squeamish, Damien’s hands might bother you.

Calculester was typing furiously when Zoe walked in. She was carrying a thick college textbook, covered in glitter stickers, squishy stickers and just about every other type of sticker you can imagine. 

“Where is he?” Calculester didn’t elaborate. There was no need. 

“Coach sent him to the office to lie down, Scott and Liam are with him.” Zoe closed the door to the student council room behind her and sat, head held in her hands. She looked glum. 

“His hands had sustained severe damage, will he be receiving treatment?”

“Yeah. Coach says Scott knows his way around blood and guts.”

“INITIALIZING SINCERE_RELIEF.EXE: that is very good to hear. Now, let us get to business.”

Zoe bit back the urge to add  _ to defeat, the huns.  _ “Yeah, you mentioned you had something you wanted to say?”

“Yes. I’ve noticed a significant issue with Damien’s reports, in contrast to my observed reality.”

“Like?”

He produced the photographs of the notebook he’d taken, and displayed them to Zoe. She looked at them with a mix of confusion and hesitance. 

“Callie? What are these?”

“These are the notes Damien returned with this morning, which is why he was using his phone for the same function. He has, as you must have noticed, degraded significantly in his ability to write coherently.”

“Well maybe he was just tired? I mean, you did say he was super wiped out this morning.”

“You would think so. But I have translated the text to the best of my abilities.”

Zoe winced. Calculester Hewlett-Packard never misunderstood even the sloppiest of notes. If he was prefacing with this fact, then this was gonna be good. 

“With that in mind, here is what Damien transcribed while observing his door last evening, and I am quoting verbatim.”

He sat up, made a beeping noise, and began:

_ “Okay so the door can fucking straight up vanish now. Door can vanish, no clue for how long, who’s doing this??? Someone has to be doing this, this doesn’t Just Happen, [ILLEGIBLE] no doors don’t just happen, vanish can’t door, why door why no window, window stays right where it is seems like a stupid curse if you ask me _

_ “Oh fuck who’s calling why are you calling don’t call me now not now no I’m in the middle of doors gotta watch the door or the door will leave, guaranteed or your money back [ILLEGIBLE] _

_ “Shut up shut up shut up I don’t wanna talk stop calling why are you calling stop calling shut up shut up just shut up _

_ “No more rings. Ringing stopped Phone’s not ringing, can’t watch the door when the phone’s ringing  _

_ “Eyes hurt then blink dumbass [ILLEGIBLE] I can’t blink the door will leave is the door a fucking [ILLEGIBLE] now Damien idk man I guess it is come on idiot Cal would look away. Cal doesn’t get scared Cal is fuckin metal [ILLEGIBLE] he’s fuckin amazing and I bet he’d look away if he had to wait when did it get dark [ILLEGIBLE]” _

Calculester finally stopped. Zoe was frozen, a look of sheer dread on her face. Like the face of someone who’d just seen the monster in one of those really old racist films. 

“Friend Zoe. Please tell me this is slang I am unfamiliar with.”

“No, it’s word soup.”

“... what is, ‘word soup?’”

“My mom says it’s when a person tries to convey an idea, but their words come out all wrong and disconnected and you can’t understand them.”

A loading sign displayed on Calculester’s face briefly. “Do you mean ‘word salad’, also sometimes called ‘schizophasia’?”

“Right right, that’s what I meant.”

“In this context, the life form known as ZOE’S MOM would likely refer to the sample as graphorrhea, which is the written version of word salad.” Calculester set his copies aside and picked up the printed notes he’d taken down during the past two days. “Damien has also displayed dysfunction with self care and basic cognitive functions, such as the ability to keep track of how much time has passed.”

“Yeah,” said Zoe, flipping the pages of her textbook, fully aware of what was coming. 

“Did you have additional information you wished to contribute?”

“I… yeah. The surveys came back today.” She pulled a massive pile of them out of her backpack and dropped them on the table. “I know I’m supposed to let you count these, but, like, I looked at a couple of these, and most of these say- you’ll see.”

Calculester took a quick look at the first one on the pile. To all of the “yes or no” questions, the individual known as “Ozzie” had answered “no” to almost all of them. The only “yes” they’d given was “have you been in proximity to the coven recently?” Which didn’t bode well. 

“And, Callie, there’s this thing…” She hesitated in her flipping. “... Okay. I do have a thought but you have to swear you won’t tell Damien or  _ anyone  _ if you think they’ll tell him.” She looked back up at Cal with those big, gaping pits that served as eyes. “Do you swear?”

Here, it was Calculester’s turn to freeze. “Would it not be most prudent to inform Damien of the nature of his condition as soon as possible?”

“Normally. But if I’m right, then it’ll just freak him out, and he’ll shut us out and we won’t be able to help him, and then he’ll isolate himself which won’t do his poor long suffering brain any favors, and-!”

“Zoe [affectionate].”

Zoe stopped rambling. 

“You have my word- I will not allow Damien to hear anything you are about to tell me.”

“Okay. Okay.” She sighed heavily and said, “do you remember when I told you that different types of insanity and fear have different tastes?”

“I do.”

“Well, that doesn’t just apply to fear.” She finally opened her book, revealing that it wasn’t one assigned by the curriculum. It was a college psych textbook. Each page was covered with different stickers and pen marks. Blueberries outlining depressive disorders, doodles of kiwis by manic disorders, even a few cute pancake stickers surrounding the description of ADHD. 

It was so busy Cal felt his eyes threaten to turn off in protest, but it must have made sense to her. 

“Mom says that we’re hypersensitive to people’s brains because of the way we eat.”

“Do you mean, the method in which you strap a screaming human to a table and eat their sanity as they scream to be destroyed?”

“Uh Huh. She thinks it’s so we can sus out who’s worth eating. Cuz it’s not worth eating someone without any emotional baggage. But, other than that, it’s been pretty useful so far.”

“In scenarios like this.”

“Uh-huh. And if I’m right, then Damien is seriously starting to… ring up… for…” she finally found the page she was looking for, psychotic disorders decorated with different nuts, and pointed to one embellished with a smiling pistachio. “Aha! Found it.”

Calculester looked where she pointed. There was silence, because there was  _ always _ silence. 

“Well. That is a possibility. Dare I say, it is a probability.”

“Do you think-?”

“Insufficient data. Further research required.”

Zoe sighed. “It’s gonna be a long night, buddy.”

* * *

It took several repeats of the exercise to calm Damien to the point where every breath didn’t feel like a precious commodity he’d fought hard for. 

“How does it feel now, my Damien?”

Bad. It felt really bad. But not as bad as before. His lungs no longer felt like they were about to collapse with each breath, but they now felt far shakier than was acceptable. 

“We gotta get your hands under control, bud. You’re bleeding.”

“Not much,” Damien mumbled, but he knew this wasn’t true. He’d torn away bits of wall before the door came back and opened. Had felt parts of his nails, his flesh, chip and rip away as he thrashed, and now he could begin to feel several decently sized bruises beginning to form. On his arms, his legs, his hands, even his chest.

“I know, buddy.” Scott was shockingly good at this. Whatever  _ this  _ was. 

He’d waited until Damien’s breathing was under control before he approached and picked him up, giving him a chance to squirm away should he want to. But, he didn’t want to. By now, he was exhausted and all he could think about was how good Scott was. Scott was so good. Too good. 

“I’m very good,” said Scott. “So is Liam.”

“So good, in fact, that we’re going to patch up your hands before you contract some horrific skin disease.” 

Oh yeah. 

“Office, boys!” Said the booming voice of their coach, as Scott mostly led, but basically carried Damien out of the death chamber. 

He didn’t remember much of the walk there. He remembered things slowly starting to hurt more and more, and vaguely remembered Liam shouting. Not at him, though, at… someone (“keep moving, plebs!” “Keep walking or you’ll end up like the other guy!”).

Before he knew it, he was  sat on the cot in the nurse’s office, as Scott knelt beside him, gripping his wrist as Coach grimly looked at his hands. 

“I, uh… hoo, boy… it’s easier when it’s sports-related.”

Scott sighed. “Here, give it to me.” Damien wished he could focus enough to see what  _ it  _ was. 

“Are you sure?”

“I once sutured a 5 year olds jugular before the paramedics arrived.” 

Damien almost smiled as the thought,  _ well, you probably ripped it out in the first place, you big lug. _

“Okay, bro, try to relax, okay?” 

Damien nodded, but he wasn’t sure what he was relaxing in preparation for. As such, he jumped and attempted to pull his hand free not a second later as he felt something…  _ intrude  _ into his injuries. Scott easily resisted and reversed his efforts to pull away. 

“Easy, dude, easy.”

Sucking in air, Damien’s fuzz-riddled mind was able to scrape together that the thing picking at his hands was a pair of tweezers. And that Scott was using them, and using them well. Well enough that he could remove any nail fragments and splinters of wood and drywall from his hands. He felt everything- every poke, scrape and agonizing stinging burn. At some point, Coach said something about them seeming to have this and leaving. Thank fuck.

Eventually, everything was wrapped tightly in bandages and taped stiff. It still mostly hurt but it wasn’t gushing everywhere anymore.

“How’s that?”

“Better. Thanks.”

“Alright. I’m gonna need you to lie here for a bit, okay?” 

A simple request. One even Damien couldn’t screw up. He felt himself start to relax, blinks growing steadily longer each time they came. 

“I’m just gonna go give your dads a call-”

Here, Damien abruptly became hyper-aware, sitting up and grabbing Scott by the arm.  _ “No!!” _ He almost yelled. “Don’t you dare!!”

Here, Liam, who was leaning against the wall by the foot of the cot and watching the door, broke his gaze with the door to look at him. “Whyever not?”

Damien felt his heart begin racing, eyes shifting frantically between Liam and the door. “Because,” he wheezed. “They- they won’t help.” He couldn’t tell you exactly how he knew this to be true, but he was more sure of it than he was of anything else. 

_ Why on earth would they help you, you stupid boy, you did this. This is forever, you opened this can of worms, now lie in it. They’ll just remind you you did this to yourself.  _

Scott and Liam exchanged a look. He didn’t know what it meant, but he assumed it didn’t bode well for him. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I  _ know _ them,” he insisted.

“You can’t just ride this out.”

“Yes I- I  _ can!” _

“Alright, okay,” Scott finally said. “We won’t tell your dads. Promise.”

Damien didn’t dare relax, but he did shift his gaze off the door. “Promise?”

_ “Promise,” _ Scott assured. “But, I am gonna need you to lie here for a while.”

“No! The door-!”

“I’ll watch it. Just focus on calming down. Okay?”

Damien eyed the exit warily, unsure if he could trust the task to Scott. 

_ He forgets stuff all the time, how do you know he’s not gonna forget he’s doing something for you, and you’ll be stuck in here forever? _

“I’ll stay too,” Liam volunteered. “But I need you to do something.”

“What?”

“Lie back down. Eyes closed.” 

This felt like a trap. He didn’t know what for, but it did. Still, he obeyed, and as guided by Liam, he shut his eyes and let his focus shift to how he was breathing. Slow. Shaky, but less so than before. It was almost… peaceful. 

He was gone before he realized he was even slipping. 

* * *

Scott didn’t look away from the door once as Damien slept. Liam, however, chanced a glance or two away to the sleeping form of their spicy red baby. 

He looked so peaceful like this. The poor thing had clearly not slept in at least a few days. How long had he intended to go like this, he pondered as he moved to the head of the bed and carded some stray hair from his face. Surely he knew it wasn’t productive. 

And moreover, why had he been freaking out so badly when they got to him? The door had definitely been there, had he just not noticed in the middle of a massive panic attack that it had returned?

“Damien,” he sighed, caressing his cheek. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Watch the door for him until whoever did this dies?” Suggested Scott. “Make him a house without any doors?”

“That is a suggestion, My Scott.”

* * *

When Damien woke up, he felt somehow worse. 

He’d thought getting some sleep after a period of no sleep was supposed to make you feel better. Apparently there were holes in that plan. Everything hurt now, like he’d spent a solid month brutally moshing as opposed to sleeping. 

He  _ really  _ hoped the door didn’t disappear often. He couldn’t do  _ that _ often. 

Slowly, he stood up, nearly collapsing twice before finally making it to his feet. His backpack had been set by the door. His phone, by whatever mercy, was lying still on top of it. He’d received a few texts, which made his heart drop, but at least the door was-

“Damien?”

Fuck. How had he forgotten Scott and Liam?... well, forgotten Scott. Liam had apparently stepped out. 

_ Probably had something more important to do.  _

“Did I keep us here long?”

“Nah, just a couple hours.” Scott stood up and cracked his neck. “You were pretty zoned out. Come on, let’s bounce.”

“Don’t we have class?”

“Damien, I’m pretty sure no one at this school has ever actually taken attendance. Or if they have, they wouldn’t actually bother to report us missing to anyone who could do anything about it.”

Okay, that was fair. As Scott fished a pair of keys out of his pocket, Damien abruptly asked, “wait since when do you drive?”

“Since my cousin let me borrow his keys under the condition that I don’t scratch her, that’s when.”

“Do you have a license?”

“No. But you’re exhausted. And it’s really not that hard.”

With that, off they went, Damien thoroughly prepared for the single most terrifying experience of his life (yes I am including both door things), but as they were about to leave, they each received a text. 

“... aw fuck. I’m on announcement duty tomorrow,” Damien reported, after he managed to force his phone open. “At least the morning meeting is cancelled. More time to chase squirrels, huh bug guy?”

Scott said, “yep! Sounds great!” As his blood pressure spiked about twenty points. 

Because yes, he’d received a mass group text, but his read not of a cancellation of the meeting, but rather said this:

_ “ATTENTION EVERYONE: tomorrow’s morning meeting is scheduled for an hour earlier than usual. DO NOT TELL DAMIEN. Arrive at school an hour earlier than usual, but DO NOT TELL DAMIEN YOU ARE DOING THIS.” _

Lying physically hurt, But Cal never broke out caps lock unless it was important


End file.
